


To Get Molly Back

by sherlollymouse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 10:17:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1684751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlollymouse/pseuds/sherlollymouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(PROMPT: </p><p>Moftiss kills Molly off in a horrendous way because she humanises Sherlock and they say they want Sherlock completely sociopathic for Series 4 and 5. Sherlock the character goes rogue. He refuses to do anything the writers make him do — he acts out of character no matter what and who they put in his way and uses objects in his world to demand that the writers do something (ANYTHING!) to bring his Molly back or he will completely disappear and never return. Sherlock does all this in the script. Sherlock is somehow able to change the content of the written original scripts because only one "master copy" is made before recopying and distribution to cast and crew. The writers notice this but only after Sherlock gets his Molly back</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

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Molly was dead. Molly had died. Sherlock tossed this thought over and over in his head. How could they take his Molly away? His pathologist. He wasn't going to take this lying down. He'd done a lot of things he didn't want to do because the writers somehow thought that their judgement was better than his. It's not like they'd made him do anything he hated doing (well, there was the whole stag night thing, but that'd been fun, at least, though incredibly embarrassing.) But, this…. This he would not stand for. You can't take his John away, you can't take his Mrs. Hudson away, his brother was necessary and so was Lestrade…. but taking his Molly away was definitely, definitely the worst idea they'd ever had.  
"Sherlock, you alright?" John was playing with what was eventually going to be a newspaper, hoping it would light up with writing soon… it'd been awhile and it had not. "Hiatus." John snorted under his breath.  
"I'm fine, John." Sherlock brushed him off and lit a cigarette.  
"Why are you smoking? You know they only let you have a smoke a few times a series."Sherlock scoffed at this, fluttering around his flat in his dressing gown.  
"Well, I think the writers are under the influence of something far more potent than a damn cigarette, so they can take a flying leap, thank you very much."  
"What are you on about?" Intentionally and dramatically, Sherlock placed both hands on either arm of Johns chair and exclaimed through gritted teeth.  
"THEY THREW ME OFF A BUILDING, SHOT ME AND NOW THEY TOOK MY DAMN MOLLY!"  
"ok." With a growl, Sherlock returned to his pacing.  
"I need my Molly, John." He turned to his friend with a look of desperation and something akin to insanity.  
"I can see that." The doctor noted.  
"Why would they kill Molly? What did she do to them? Laugh at one of their jokes too loud? Say something too nice to someone? Not smack me hard enough? I mean, really." He finished pacing for a moment and tossed him self onto the couch with a great puff of dust. Laying on his back he inhaled the cigarette in long, extended breaths and slowly exhaled, lazily playing with the smoke with his fingers. This seemed to call him down. "I need her back John, we have got to get her back." He closed his eyes, savoring an inhale.  
"Listen this isn't Doctor Who or Supernatural, when a character's killed off they stay dead."  
"Irene's still alive." Sherlock retorted, matter of factly.  
"WHAT THE FUCK! YOU IRENE AND MORIARTY! ARE THEY HIGH?!"  
"I think so." Sherlock shrugged.  
"Well, alright then, if we can get Molly back, then we'll know how to save any other characters they needless kill off."  
"We can save her how I saved Irene."  
"How's that?"  
"Go rogue."  
"But, how do we do that?"  
"We do whatever we want, I just went to the Middle East for the woman, but Molly.. Molly will be harder to get back… we'll need to show them the error of their ways."  
"How do we do that?" Sherlock gave John a devious look. "No, no, whatever you're thinking is obviously not good. Not good at all and I'll no part in it."  
"Well, they're probably going to take Mary next." His friend grunted and paced a circle into the floor for few seconds before relenting. He sat up and put his cigarette out in one of the ash trays they'd stolen from the palace.  
"Ok, whats your plan?"  
"Simple." The detective approached his friend and snatched the paper from his hand, tossing it onto the floor. "Johnlock"  
"Wha—" Before he could get the word, Sherlock had pulled him into a passionate kiss. John struggled to get himself free and immediately punched Sherlock in the face. "WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM?"  
"That hurt." He rubbed the bruising skin on his cheek. "That wasn't very nice."  
"Well, shoving your tongue down my throat was rude to say the least and bat shit crazy at best. What are you on?"  
"I miss Molly." Propping his face at an angle, he gave his friend his best puppy dog eyes, even allowing them to tear a bit.  
"What exactly were you and Molly doing?" With a sigh, Sherlock resumed his former position on the couch and lit another cigarette.  
"Well, nothing yet, the writers won't let me shag anyone. Say I'm suppose to be sexually repressed. You can only masturbate so many times a day, John"  
"A day?" John stood, aghast.  
"I'M A NEARLY 40 YEAR OLD VIRGIN, FOR GOD SAKES, THEY SHOULD BE BLOODY GRATEFUL I HAVEN'T SHAGGED A HOLE IN THE SOFA!" Sherlock screamed, his face growing a bit red from the strain.  
"Jesus, its that bad?" asked John.  
"You have no idea." The other man groaned as he rose from the coach again.  
"Alright, well, I'll let the kiss slide, but no more funny business."  
"Ok." Immediately, Sherlock pulled John to him again and all the doctor could do was shorten the kiss.  
"That wasn't an invitation to kiss me again, you jackass!" He swatted as his friend, who was acting beyond out of character.  
"I understand, lets just wait until the new scripts start coming to make our move." Sherlock replied in as calming a tone as he could muster.  
John was agreeable to this, mostly because it meant his friend wouldn't be accosting him again, but also because Sherlock may have calmed down by then.

But, he didn't.

When the script drafts began arriving, Sherlock would jump with glee. Grabbing at the papers floating from the ceiling with a pen in one hand and a devilish smile painted across his face.  
"No! No! Absolutely not. Haha! Not this season, Gatiss." Scoffs, snorts, exclamations and giggles filled the room, leaving the other characters to believe, perhaps, he had finally gone completely mad. "I don't feel like doing that Moffat. Make Mycroft do it." He'd whine every once in awhile, or a "Really, Gatiss? That's not even necessary. Is that english?"  
Then one day, a frightful bought of laughter disrupted the whole of their little world as an unkept Sherlock Holmes leaned out the window, naked, shouting "I DON'T TAKE SUGAR IN MY COFFEE ANYMORE!" and threw himself back onto the carpet, collapsing under the weight of his giggle fit.  
"Sherlock." It was the forth time John had spoken his name, but the first time the mumbling, nude idiot paused to look up at him. "Are you alright? Some of the other characters thought you might need a shower and shave…. Mary thinks you look like Jesus… finds it unsettling." Sherlock replied with a blank, blinking stare. "Ok. Come on." He pulled his nude friend off the floor and drug him into the bath room where he ran a bath.  
"Molly's done this before." The mopey taller man fiddled with his ugly beard.  
"I'm sure she has…" Under his breath, he added "apparently she did a lot."  
Sherlock didn't fuss, fight or move until John pulled out the razor and brought it to his face.  
"NO! I do." He pointed to himself with one hand and accepted the bladed instrument with the other.  
"Yeah, ok… couldn't have said that when I washed you bum, right? Maybe I should have taken a machete to it."  
A little while later, as John was watching print appear on the newspapers, a jovial Sherlock ran in to join him in the living room… still naked and sopping wet.  
"John! John!" The closer the crazed man got, the more defensive John got.  
"You touch me naked, I will shoot you." Confused, the man stopped right up against him. They stared each other down for a moment, before Sherlock took a single finger and started playing 'not touching you', after a few, aggravating seconds, John took the mans finger and twisted it, pulling his arm behind his back. "Are you done?" He asked.  
"Well, I am now!" Sherlock whined.  
"Good." The former army doctor released his friend.  
"Will you do me a favor, John?" Sherlock nursed the knuckle of his hurt finger by gently biting on it.  
"If you put some clothing on." John demanded.  
"What for?" The hand movements Sherlock had acquired as of late were erratic and big and John was nearly smacked in the face.  
"Not everyone wants to see you naked, Sherlock." He informed Sherlock.  
"Please, it's not me thats naked…. I'm just an idea borrowing someones likeness."  
"Ok… well, than whose likeness are you borrowing?"  
"Some Ben guy… weird last name… can never remember it." He waved it off to stare out the window.  
"Yes, well, I'm sure he'd appreciate you putting your trousers on."  
"He's done nude shows before. Had one role where he pranced around on stage naked for 15mins at the very beginning. Why should he care I'm walking around naked in my own home?"  
"Fine. Just, whats the favor?"  
"I need you to go set something on fire."


	2. Chapter 2

Greg Lestrade stormed into the flat to find Sherlock sitting in his chair, completely nude.  
“Evening, Gabe. Tea?” Sherlock held up his mug. “Kettles just boiled, help yourself.”  
“Wha— what’s going on here, Sherlock?” The D.I. asked, ignoring his name being butchered.  
“Well, the writers upset him, so Sherlocks taking their show.” John informed Greg and the man in question smiled before taking a long drink.  
“By sitting around naked?” His face wrinkled up as he passed glances between John and Sherlock.  
“Well, thats just to get their attention… I do have other plans.” Sherlock explained.  
“Like, what? They’ve given us a proper case this script.” The DI pleaded.  
“Ah, yes. The body in the alleyway. Jeffrey Martin.” Adjusting in his seat, Sherlock continued to sip his tea.  
“Well, yeah, but you’re not suppose to know that yet.” Greg squinted his eyes at the unnecessarily calm man.  
“I read ahead. Its some guy name Nickoli Banks. He left a shoe, I analyzed some dirt—“ He took a breath “WITHOUT MOLLY!” Was shouted into the air “and then we were able to track him down in some random warehouse… I forget where… but, its boring now, I don’t want to do it.”  
“Yeah, well, we’re suppose to.” Greg continued his attempted negotiation.  
“Suppose to, yes. Going to, absolutely not.” Sherlock mused before returning to his tea and John merely stared back up at the DI from his chair.  
“He’s been like this since they finalized the scripts. He won’t put his clothes on, he’s being exceptionally creepy and, apparently, has decided to smoke with his feet.” John gestured to the clown lighting a cigarette up between his toes.  
“Well, what if they take my arms next?” Sherlock retorted.  
“You won’t be lighting a lighter, thats for sure.” John argued back.  
“I’ll strike a match with my mouth.” Sherlock countered.  
“How?” Sherlock thought on this for a minute before cursing.  
“Well, what am I suppose to do?” Greg had no interest in enjoying the company of a nude Sherlock Holmes.  
“You can help.” The mans blue grey eyes flickered as he retrieved the cigarette from between his toes and leaned forward.  
“How?” Greg threw his arms in the air.  
“By doing whatever you want…. rob a liquor store or something, they’ll love that.”  
“I started a fire in a taxi just to get him to stop bitching.” John sighed.  
“You see, its that easy.” Sherlock got up from his seat to a chorus of complaints and objections from his two friends. “Just in general, cause destruction and mayhem. We have to get Molly back.”  
“What? Molly? This is about Molly?” Greg was clearly irritated.  
“Yes! They have to bring her back, we need her!” The nude man insisted, scratching at his inner thigh.  
“Could you just stop… please, put some clothes on at the very least… you’re making us all uncomfortable.” John pleaded but his request was waved off and, instead, Sherlock tossed his cigarette butt into the fire place and proceeded to jump on the couch, forcing the DI to leave and John to groan in disgust. 

“Please, lets take a walk… come on, we’ll … go to the park and you shout at children and a kick elder people.” John offered and Sherlock stopped jumping and considered his friend for a minute.  
“Are clothes necessary?” Sherlock asked, eyebrow raised.  
“If you want my company… yes.” Reluctantly, Sherlock finally went to dress.  
TWO HOURS LATER  
Sitting on the bench in the middle of the park, Sherlock began to cry.  
“Why are you crying, Sherlock? Whats wrong, now?” John felt a bit obligated to inquire.  
“I miss Molly.” His friend wailed.  
“Oh, god, still on this. Look, she’s dead. The writers have other plans, maybe they’ll give you a new friend—thing—something or other.. what the fuck were you two anyway?”  
“Hold me, John.” Sherlock leaned into John, who immediately stood up, letting the tearful man hit the bench.  
“NO!”  
“If Molly were here, she’d hold me.”  
“Right, yes, I’m sure she would. But, thats Molly. You guys were… different than us.”  
“But, I love you, too, John.”  
“Yes, but not that—“  
“WHY WON’T YOU LOVE ME, JOHN? I’VE BEEN NOTHING BUT GOOD TO YOU!” He grabbed at the doctors jacket and tried to pull him towards his tear soaked face. Seeing the crowd that had turned to watch, John reluctantly hugged Sherlock. “Stroke my hair.”  
“What?”  
“Molly use to stroke my hair.”  
“I’m not—“  
“PLEASE!”  
“Fine, but only a little.” John hesitantly fondled a few curls. “This is weird, Sherlock.”  
“You don’t do it right!” Sherlock pushed the doctor away and stormed off. “Not Molly!” He turned and pointed at his friend accusingly, still crying, and broke into a run, John was sure, simply to entertain and confuse the audience.  
Not that he really wanted to, but he followed after the wannabe mental patient as he wandered around the park. At one point, Sherlock pulled a large wrench out of his jacket and started banging at a water fountain. Not that it did much damage, but John pulled him away, anyway.  
“What else can I do? John, what would I never do?”  
“Behave?” Sherlock stopped in his tracks.  
“Thats it, John, you’re a genius!” Sherlock turned and gave John a kiss on the cheek before grabbing his hand and running off.  
“What the hell is wrong with you?”  
“We’re going back home.”  
“Why?”  
“Because its boring.” He tossed John into the back of the cab and they sped off.


End file.
